


The Rabbit Heart Letters

by concertconfetti



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Catharsis, Established Relationship, F/M, Letters, Love/Hate, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-20 12:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4787327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concertconfetti/pseuds/concertconfetti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dear Shitlord..."</p><p>After being left in a wyvern-filled glade in the middle of the night, Inquisitor Lavellan takes to writing letters to Solas as a way of finding peace. When those letters find their way into the hands of an Agent of Fen'harel, however, the Dread Wolf comes to know the extent of the damage he's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The satchel on his desk sagged and smelled of old parchment. There were ink stains on the edges of the burlap - rain, or water from the crossroads made one of the letters bleed.

“Word for you,” Enasalin said, sounding so like the old requisition officer that it caught Solas off guard. “Well, at least, they’re addressed to you.”

“I asked that you leave the Inquisitor’s things undisturbed,” Solas said, lightly. “She deserves her privacy.”

“Says the man who watches her dreams nigh every evening.” Enasalin was used to Solas’ quiet glare by now. Never stopped her criticisms before; the fallout from Felassan’s death was worse than anything he could do to her now. “Look, read them, or don’t, I’m not heading back to Skyhold until next week.”

The agent turned on her heel. Solas was certain that, had there been a door, Enasalin would have slammed it. Petulant child. 

Solas' 'office' was, officially, a part of the library. It was, for all purposes, a small bit of floor, a desk, and utilized bookshelves for walls. Solas had taken to hoarding old memories that were...relevant to his history, and those he could use to explain things to new recruits. And now, it held the sadness and anger of one Inquisitor Atarra Lavellan. 

The letters sat for two days on a bookshelf, books of ancient memories resting next to them. The morning of the third day, a few agents congratulated Solas on his self-restraint under their breath. Enasalin’s team. That afternoon, he pulled out the first letter.

“Solas” was written in careful, elvhen script, something the Inquisitor picked up from the well of sorrows. The letter was more of a note, a set of long paragraphs on a single page.

_“Dear Shitlord…”_

Solas stopped reading. “Colorful,” he muttered.

The note was written in tight, common script, shaking slightly at the end of each angry sentence. A quick glance at the date told him that this was written the day before Corypheus attacked, attempting to rend the veil in the Frostback Mountains. Two weeks into Atarra’s oath of silence.

_“Dear Shitlord,_

_We may die tomorrow, and that’s…well. That’s something. In any event, I have words for you._

_I love you and I hate you._

_I need to you to understand something, because I have this feeling that if I were to die you would make it out alive, so writing this doesn’t seem futile. I need you to understand why I kept these…things. (I can’t even think of my face anymore, my vallaslin anymore without being sick. So, thank you for that.)_

_You told me that these were slave markings - the voices from the well told me they were to dedicate slaves to the gods. Bloodoaths, tithes. I never dedicated myself to a god, I don’t believe in them. Maybe I never did. I don’t know. I just….I liked Mythal’s stories. She was reason, she was justice. She was the ideal I wanted to hold myself to, not some god I dedicated myself to serving.A reminder of who I should be._

_I met her, you know. Mythal. She stood there and told me The People would be proud of me. A woman I didn’t even know, and she told me what you couldn’t in nearly a year of…"_

The letter ended abruptly - if Solas recalled correctly, Cole had interrupted Atarra’s writing with a question about hunting. The page shook, trembled in the Dread Wolf’s hand. Of course Mythal would be proud of the Inquisitor, anyone should be. Did she truly think…?

_thack_

A small pool soaked into the page. The library suddenly felt oppressively small and terrible. Solas placed the letter on his desk and sank to the floor, head in his hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dear Harellan..." 
> 
> The second of a number of letters, written with sloppy insults.

“Boss?”  Enasalin’s voice crept through the air.  Not in room, but hanging in the doorway. “Are you alright? I heard…”

“I’m fine.” Solas’ voice sounded strained and choked. Not his most convincing lie. “Leave me be.” He waited, five, fifteen heartbeats until he heard the echo of bare feet on stone. Enasalin knew which orders to follow; it was the reason he kept her around.

Solas wrapped a hand around the letter bag’s handle and pulled it clumsily off of the shelf. The tears had stopped, and since he was on the floor anyway, he may as well read another letter while he had the mental stamina.

“ _Dear ~~elvhen’alas~~ ~~seth’lin~~ Harellan…_ ”

Solas snorted, a short burst of sad laughter. The first two insults were lightly written and violently crossed out – something she wrote to vent anger, but did not mean.  ‘Harellan’ was so close to the truth, he wondered idly if Atarra had figured out his elaborate lie. He wouldn’t put it past her – he certainly left the Inquisitor enough clues.

This letter was longer, written around a Dalish holiday about three months after Solas left. 

“ _Do you remember that time I killed a bear by myself on the Storm Coast? And you gave me a lecture about running off alone like you were some angry harhen? It was one fucking bear. The world collapsing around us and you got all up in arms because I had to take a bear on by myself._

_‘Do you even comprehend how important you are to this entire endeavor?’ you said, like I hadn’t been told by Cullen and Josie and Leliana how important I was every hour leading up until that point."_

That conversation was not one of Solas' finer moments. 

"What, like a bear was going to kill me?" Atarra said, indignant. "You could have helped if you hadn't insisted on going around."

"You should not be recklessly putting your life in danger, Inquistor." Solas said, stern glare on his face. He thought she was being reckless, that she wasn't thinking things through. He didn't know her yet.

"Seriously? What are you, my keeper?" Atarra spat back. "Listen, if you want to lead so badly, be my guest."

The last thing Solas wanted was to lead the Inquisition. Too much of a spotlight. Thinking on it now, Solas had provoked the argument because Atarra had stood up for the Dalish. He thought her childish, vapid. He hadn't taken the time to understand her yet. He had been a fool for the entirety of their relationship. 

 _"You know why I had to fight that stupid thing by myself? Because you insisted we couldn’t climb the cliff face. Well, I did and I killed a bear. So fuck you._ ”

Solas stared for a moment at the rippled text. It was written in an unsteady hand. Below it, a hard, single line struck through the middle of the parchment, written later, perhaps.

“ _Okay, I could barely even read this back to myself, so I’m going to start this letter over. And I guess I promise I won’t write drunk again. Trying to start an argument about bears is like…asking Cassandra not to fight bears. It’s a bit of a pointless exercise._

_I wish you had actually given me a reason to hate you. Because you left me in the middle of Crestwood, in a wyvern-haven, but I can only hate you for that for so long._

_I told you about my keeper, didn’t I? I can’t remember exactly what I told you, ~~you never seemed to care much~~ the only thing I can clearly remember telling you is that Minaeve’s clan was a clan of seth’lin for sending a seven year old into the woods, as if magic wasn’t important to the survival of our people. My people. Our people? _

_My keeper was the person who I turned to when the other children started calling me Marked. Marked by Fen’Harel because wolves killed my father and I had nightmares. Let me tell you, that made for a fun childhood…_ ”

Solas sighed – Atarra had told him about her father’s death, but never that her clan mates had used it as an opportunity for insult. Another pain he caused her, indirect as it may be.

“ _…I went to my keeper and she told me that I should wear the insult like armor and prove myself to myself. So I worked, really hard. I trained myself in archery and swordplay before I was apprenticed, I learned as much elvhen as I could. (Yes, I stole materials from the First and Second, but this is a letter and you can’t say whatever you’re going to say to me about that so…)._

_And then I became the best hunter in my clan. Seems stupid now, empty. I used to take pride in what I did and now…_

_We closed the last rift in Orlais today, though I heard some opened in Kirkwall. I’ll be glad when they stop. Maybe I’ll be able to rest for a while._

_-Atarra_ ”

The last line - how could he tell her that she wouldn't be able to rest? The mark on her hand would tear her apart eventually. He would have to devise a plan, see her one last time, to save her. Solas knew the Inquisitor had felt the effects already; her dreams had become unusually pained as of late. 

He turned the letter over in his hands - above his name, once again written in neat elvhen, was a number. "Tan" - the third letter in a series, then. Solas sighed. This could take a while. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elvhen'alas means "dirt elf" or "dirt elves" according to the wiki. Seth'lin is "dirt blood." The bear incident happened in gameplay when my followers got stuck on a cliff and I had to take down a bear with Atarra alone. It took a while and I was angry about it, hence the letter. 
> 
> Man, I feel bad for the lack of dialogue in this one but the letter was already written, so I just needed the context around it. Work-week starts back up again tomorrow so chapters may be scarce.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Dear Solas..."
> 
> And the angsty pain continues.

“ _Dear ~~vhenan~~ ~~Solas~~ Douchecanoe,_ ” Solas read out loud. Two names written and crossed out, too painful to face. 

“Accurate.” Solas stood up, facing the door. Enasalin leaned against the doorway with a mug in hand. Her hair had been cut recently, close to the scalp – probably in the time between Solas reading the third and fourth letters. “I brought you hot chocolate, since tea has been banned from the crossroads.” 

Enasalin’s copper skin stood stark against the white porcelain. Stolen, likely, from the Winter Palace. Solas shook his head.

“I asked that you leave me be.”

“Of course, but I’m the reason you are a bit…pained,” Enasalin said. She placed the mug on the corner of his desk. “So, hot chocolate. Leaving now.”

“Thank you,” Solas said, quietly taking the mug and easing himself back to the floor.

Enasalin threw a sad smile back at Solas. “You got it boss.”

“ _Dear Douchecanoe,_

_I’ll have to admit that I am running out of insults. Everything now is just…standing in the ache that you left. Perhaps I’ll break one of these days, fly off the handle and everyone will be talking about how Touched the lady Herald is._

_I painted you something, if you care to look. It’s on the back of this parchment.”_

She had taken to writing the letters as if she would actually send them. Solas smiled lightly.

The back of the parchment held the image of two elves, painstakingly painted in a style similar to his own. Green sparked from the smaller elf’s hand – she stood in front of a rag tag party. The Inquisitor and her small family. On the ledge, Abelas stood scornful and angry. The background was all gilded and gold, opulence Atarra had despised.

“ _Do you remember this?”_ All too well. Atarra’s anger had been palpable – her face and freckles red with anger.

“You are not my people,” the Sentinel had said with scorn. A line Solas had used before, that had drawn just as much anger from the Inquisitor. She planted her feet, lifted her chin, and all the while her mark burned with anger and magic from a time long past.

“We are all that’s left,” she spat, edging forward. A challenge. “Now if you are done bitching about a world you are not a part of, you have a choice. You can help me get rid of Sampson, or you can _get out of my way._ ” 

When Solas reached for Atarra, to calm her down, she brushed him off – she had been all to aware that it was her Abelas had condemned, not Solas.

“ _I was so furious. I was and still am sick of being looked at and called a shadow. I get that look from humans, dwarves, and my own people. It was me – I was broken, a ruin of an ancient people who hadn’t even tried to help modern elves. And I got that look from you._

_That’s what hurts the most, I think. Remembering how you looked at me when we first met. I was just The Mark to you, and when I expressed my concern over my people that first day, you damn near mocked me. I wonder sometimes if that’s what you’re doing now – mocking me. I was the Dalish girl you tricked into loving you, and then, the best part, you left me alone to fix the world._

_The Dalish girl who kept her vallaslin, the Dalish girl who fumbled around in the dark, flinging her hand at rifts trying desperately to fix something she hadn’t broken.”_

Somewhere in the past there was a young woman, scratching letters into a piece of parchment. She was thinner than Solas remembered – _not eating right, forgot to eat again today_ – her face caked in dirt and blood such that you could barely tell the dirt from the freckles. Dark red vallaslin cut her cheekbones. Her hair stuck out in every direction, save the single braid where her scalp was viable. 

In this memory, Solas could see she was crying, huddled in the remains of a sweater Lady Montilyet had given the Inquisitor for Saturnalia. Her leg wraps loose, and a wolf-jaw trinket hung from her belt. 

“ _I miss you. Everything about this fortress feels empty, holds new hurts. Bull and the Chargers left today, and now all that remains of my inner circle is Josie and Cullen. I love them both but I am surrounded by people who see me as some sort of god, and I can’t—”_

“Atarra,” Solas said to the empty air. Power was never something she had wanted – she had been uncomfortable with the idea of being The Herald from the beginning. “You can make it through this.” Even as he said the words, they felt empty. He owed the Inquisitor more than platitudes. 

“ _I can’t do this without my friends, but I’ve had to let them all go. One day this will end, all of this nonsense, the Inquisition will end and I’ll have to let go of everyone, go back to my little clan in the Free Marches, and tell tall tales of the Qunari I used to run with, my spirit son and his compassion, and an elf who taught me how to dream._

_An elf I loved. You know my Keeper asked me about you recently. I wasn’t sure what to tell her other than, ‘he left.’_

_Ar lath, ma vhenan._

_-Atarra”_

Solas pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. He had done what was necessary, he had to leave her, otherwise he would drag her down a path of darkness to her doom. She would drown in the decisions he had to make. He did what had to be done.

He repeated the mantra until he felt almost numb to the pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and commented. I love you all.
> 
> The story will be changing a bit after this chapter - its hard to keep the letter format up and feel like we're making progress. Be on the look out. :)


	4. A memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisitor returns from closing rifts in Kirkwall to find her letters are missing. Quiet rituals and war table arguments follow.

Lavellan paced.  She’d been pacing since she returned from the Free Marches.

“Lady Lavellan?” Josephine asked, a bit louder this time. Her previous attempts to break the elf’s concentration had failed. “I am certain the rut you are wearing into the floor is important but can you at least tell me what is troubling you?" 

Atarra stopped, hands gripping her desk. “My letters are gone,” she said quietly.

“What letters?”

“I had been writing…” Atarra scraped a hand across her face. Grime smeared across her pale features, and into her hair. She could bathe later (one good thing about the dispersed inner circle was Vivienne’s inability to lecture the Inquisitor about bathing after battle). “Look it doesn’t matter, they were just very personal bits of writing. They were here when I left two weeks ago.”

“I’ll have one of our agents look into who was in the room, Inquisitor.” Josephine smiled sadly, closing the distance from the stairs to the Inquisitor. She placed a gentle hand on Atarra’s shoulder. “I know you miss him, but perhaps it would be best if you gave yourself a break.” 

Atarra hummed, and Josie was gone. Those letters were her only coping mechanism. She could almost hear Bull now. 

“ _Boss, you left personal letter just…laying about in the open?”_

_“How was I supposed to know someone would take them, Bull?”_

_“Spies will find their way in, Boss.”_

“Mythal’s tits, I’m an idiot.” Atarra muttered, sinking to the floor in front of her desk. Everyone launched into the proper “you deserved better” speech when Solas left.  And she had sat down and written down every angry thought and explanation she’d owed him. That, in the wrong hands…

“Your carefully built reputation will take a hit,” Atarra said in a poor imitation of Leliana. She stood and carefully began the process of cleaning herself up – a ritual she had built for herself in what remained of her life. She shed the boots and armour built for her and messaged oils into the swollen skin before carefully wrapping her legs in strips of halla leather. She slipped on a tunic her clan had sent her and the belt Leliana had given her (complete with a set of knives hidden on the inside.

Her hair she pulled into a tight bun, wrapped with small trips of leather, wolf teeth hanging at the ends. Atarra carefully ran a razor over the left side of her scalp – she’s let the stubble grow a bit to long while helping Varric.

Atarra Lavellan stood at the mirror and told herself she repented nothing. Her reflection looked put-together, like she hadn’t lost sleep. Almost like she looked before the Inquisition.

The stone of Skyhold stung her feet with their chill – the hallways between her room and the main hall were not well heated – and she hopped lightly from step to step toward the war room. She pass by nobles and dignitaries without so much as a glance – most didn’t notice her unless she was in her armor. Just another elven servant; not that Atarra minded much. She enjoyed her small moments of quiet, when no one needed her, and she could sit in the rotunda and read, wrapped in a green, fur lined vest she would never admit she kept. 

She dashed down the hall toward the ridiculously large doors to the war room, pausing only slightly by the collapsed wall on her right. They really ought fix that wall, but Atarra always left it. She liked the way the light streamed in.

“We can spare the men,” She heard Cullen through the door.

“What do you mean, we can spare the men?” Josephine demanded. “It’s not as if we are fighting a war currently. Marching the Inquisition’ forces straight through Ferelden will not win us favors.”

“Ah yes!” Atarra said, throwing the door open. “The arguing commences. What would you two do without me?” She smirked, but it must not have been convincing; Cullen’s face fell slightly and his voice softened in a way that made Atarra feel sick.

“Inquisitor you don’t – ”

“Can we please, for five minutes, stop acting like I am made of glass?” Atarra said, leaning on the table. “I am aware that most days I am not…happy, but I can handle a war room meeting, Commander, and I want to know what is so important that we may need to march troops through Ferelden. If we are going to invite Arl Tegan’s ire I would know why." 

There was a beat of silence, before Josie stepped in. “Charter has had reports of an organization raiding elven ruins. Whispers of small bands of elves going missing for weeks at a time. I suggested we ask the nobility if they had heard anything…”

“And I think we should put an end to it.” Cullen said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Last time some unknown force went looking for elven ruins..”

“We cannot assume everyone is Corypheus, Cullen,” Atarra said. “What is so strange about elves raiding their own ruins? And if we want to get anywhere, Josie, we should ask Red Jenny.”

“Inquisitor,” Josie sighed. “I must object…”

“The nobility won’t know where elves are going or why their servants are leaving, only that they are gone,” Atarra said, straightening her back. “I’ll have Charter send a bird off to Sera and see what she knows. If she knows.”

“Understood,” Josie and Cullen said, almost in unison.

“Inquisitor, there is the matter of Denerim,” Josie added.

“What about Denerim?”

“You’ve been invited to a royal gathering…”

“Piss.” A ball was the last thing Atarra wanted right now. Things were much easier when she was killing demons. “Is it required?”

“A few Orlesians will be in attendance, and King Alistair would like to meet you. Officially, this time.” Josie smiled. “We’ll arrange the details, you will barely be involved. Just make an appearance, wave at a few nobles, and we can get you out of there.”

“Fine,” Atarra said. “But we’re bringing Bull and Cole and there will be no arguments.”

* * *

 

_“Dear Pissbucket,_

_Yes, the insults are back, though I’m not sure how much anger I am actually putting into these any more. I wanted to write you a memory, because it’s been haunting me for days now and I can’t sleep._

_Do you remember that time when we slogged through the temple of Dirthamen? The temple of ‘what-the-fuck’? I told you that I was pissed, and I was. Here was this priest, who understood that the gods were lost to them and tried to free his people. And they killed him for it. Rent his body and bound him to the very temple. For what? The secrets they kept?_

_They must have been pretty terrible secrets._

_I don’t remember what you told me any more. The Well – it told me they were scared. They had tried to reach out to the temple of Mythal but were cut off. The prospect of freedom was too much. The simplicity was gone._

_I don’t want to become simple, Solas. I don’t want to be this figurehead that people can turn into a profit, a god without even batting an eye. There was a hole in the sky and I closed it. I was able to move and act when others would have been paralyzed by the chantry._

_How will they remember me, Solas? As an elf who tried and fought as hard as she could? Or will they erase me like Ameridan, like the history our people get so wrong._

_My people. Sorry._

_My arm is aching. The mark is getting worse. Can't help but blame you._

_Ar vir sule'din,_

_Atarra”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ar vir sule'din = roughly, I will endure this.
> 
> Okay so, here's the introduction of a tiny little plot, and how the chapters will be going from now on. Thank you to those who've left comments and kudos - I love all of you. 
> 
> As a heads up, since this is a work in progress, changes will be made to published chapters. I'll try to call these out in the notes, but I may forget. Sorry in advance.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work in progress, and may come slowly. For that, I apologize. Can't promise this will be good - don't have beta readers, and this is largely unedited. 
> 
> I like these at least.


End file.
